


The Mediocre Escape

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Napoleon and Illya’s daring escape comes with one hiccup…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mediocre Escape

“Will you stop complaining, Napoleon!?” Illya chided, his long, yellow locks flipping in the air as he turned back to stare at his partner. “You seem to have forgotten that I was the one who led us out of that THRUSH satrap!”

“Yes… Yes, you did,” Napoleon agreed, wincing as he tried to reach the itch located dead center in his back. He scowled as he felt a large tear in his shirt, no doubt caused by having snagged it on a large branch during their escape. “And it’s not that I’m not grateful for it. I just take issue with the fact that you didn’t think our escape through.”

“Forgive me, but I was more concerned…” Illya paused to scratch his lower neck, gritting his teeth in vexation as he did so. “…More concerned with getting us away from that place.”

Napoleon let out a frustrated growl and attempted to use a fallen stick as a back-scratcher, but it didn’t seem to help.

“You’ll tear your skin open,” Illya warned him while ignoring his own advice and persisting with trying to claw at his neck.

“Maybe this torture will stop, then,” Napoleon hissed. “To think I have you to thank for this!”

“I got us away from THRUSH, didn’t I?” Illya countered.

“ _By having us crawl through a poison ivy patch?!_ ” Napoleon asked, incredulously. “Nice going, Number Two of Section Two!”

“It was dark!” Illya defended. “How was I to know we were crawling through those wretched plants!?”

Napoleon didn’t answer him, instead letting out an _argh_ of pure exasperation as his attempts to reach the afflicted part of his back ended in failure.

“Okay, you know what!?” he fumed. “We’re making a break for the highway, hitching a ride back to civilization, and getting our hands on a half-dozen bottles of calamine lotion!”

“Will that help?”

“It better.”

They made a break for it, as if running would somehow alleviate the itch that was currently plaguing them. And as they ran, Illya took pity on his partner and scratched his back to help him out.

Napoleon thanked him, privately acknowledging that any escape from THRUSH was a good escape—even if it involved the indignity of poison ivy.


End file.
